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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28106214">You Run</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMorningGlory/pseuds/TheMorningGlory'>TheMorningGlory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Best Friends, Bughead centric - Freeform, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Drama, Emotional, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, Flashbacks, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt Jughead Jones, Intense, Jughead Jones Loves Betty Cooper, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Jughead is in love with his best friend but will she return his feelings?, Landslide begins to play..., Love Confessions, Religious Themes, Resolved ending, Sad and Happy, Takes place around Christmas, Tears, Tender romance, Winter Bughead Fic, childhood flashbacks, gut punch, heart wrenching moments, holiday fic, season one vibes, time leap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28106214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMorningGlory/pseuds/TheMorningGlory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As the car reaches the clearing, the area where a few tall spruces mark the entrance to the mountains beyond the forest floor, Jughead’s window becomes clouded over with something much thicker than mist. It only takes two quick blinks and a single swipe of the windshield wipers before he realizes that it is, in fact, snowing.<br/>___</p><p>Winter fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper &amp; Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Valley of Dry Bones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You may find a better way<br/>You might find the reason for it all<br/>You may hold a better hand<br/>All your pride and understanding<br/>Never really feeling love at all<br/>But what you thought were distant worlds apart<br/>Pulls you in and wraps around your heart forever</p>
<p>"You Run" - The Call </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>Twenty-three years ago.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before our every thought was transmitted through the airways – catalogued into the void for friends and strangers alike – a mix of pixels and artificial words shared amongst virtual users – Riverdale was still there, wherever <em>there</em> was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Riverdale, though small and seemingly insignificant on any map, a speck for all intents and purposes, still had its charms, its history – its secrets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was many things, really – a place, a town, a specter of days long past, whose story still whistled gaily in the wind: <em>there’s nobody’s there, just me and my shadow</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For it was here, in the valley of immutable shadows, whose ethereal figures still appeared in dreams or otherwise – in the form of a shadow atop the hill or a whisper along the mountainside – that Riverdale had first been discovered. The quiet town not so far from the city, though far enough, was and had always been a placeholder for ancient silhouettes, seemingly unmarred by time, with each inhabitant serving as an unchanging shell of its former kin, whose first forefather had only happened upon the sleepy locale by happenstance or otherwise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Legend has it that Archibald Claudius Smith had stumbled upon the verdant plat, which would later become the tiny town, while he had been hunting for game to feed his family with. Before his discovery, he saw the largest deer he had ever laid eyes upon standing on the hillside at the edge of the forest. Enthralled, he had followed the sizeable deer – hither and thither like a determined huntsman – and very nearly had it, until it sensed his presence and ran. However, once he was at that same spot, he forgot all about the lost game and looked down in awe at the violet waters swirling beneath the hill as they churned beside the grassy knoll, the spot which would later become Sweetwater River – and, subsequently, his new home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And countless generations later it was this – ever, and forever home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But whoever he had been – the very first Riverdale resident, a Puritan and father – one thing remained constant: Riverdale’s current inhabitants imitated each other in all of their exploits, both professional and otherwise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Every yard, every tree, and, yes – even children’s birthday parties – served as a chance for each neighbor to outdo the other, to claim their own domestic throne. It was an unspoken competition that most, if not all the residents partook of, and no one was immune to this silent rivalry amongst brethren (<em>no one!</em>) – least of all, Alice (<em>née</em> Smith) Cooper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice Cooper, a direct descendant of the town’s founder, Archibald, was never one to be beaten at, well, anything - even something as mundane as being a domestic housewife.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For Mrs. Cooper excelled at all things. She was a member of the school districts PTA and every other association in the tiny town that would have her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At present, Alice Cooper is in the midst of throwing a birthday party for her youngest child, Elizabeth Cooper, who is far too small to even remember such a thing. In fact, she’s walking across her pristinely manicured backyard, crunching the grass underfoot as she walks back and forth, brushing aggressively against the vibrant bougainvillea’s, whose vines are blooming upwards and out from in-between each wooden fence panel encircling the backyard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hal!” Alice yells, her voice laden with irritation as she sets two large jugs of pink lemonade on top of the overly decorated picnic table outside. “Can you or FP keep an eye on the kiddos, please,” she says before turning around to look at Betty and Jughead. She throws a curious glance in their general direction: <em>they’re okay</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She watches her daughter, Betty, do a precarious wobble towards a muddy puddle which little Jughead is sitting adjacent to as he fumbles with his plastic blocks, banging them against the rumbled grass, his mouth agape as he coos ‘<em>block!</em> <em>see Betty!’ </em>between his tiny, wet pout.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Alice is satisfied that both Betty and Jughead are alright, she directs her attention back to the party. She checks the Strawberry Shortcake table for the fifth time, ensuring that everything is <em>just</em> <em>so</em> for her little girl. The table itself looks lovely, and she couldn’t be more pleased with her own handiwork.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice sighs contentedly and squares her shoulders in satisfaction, straightening the collar of her blue Izod polo before yelling, “I’m going to the front of the house, Hal. Come out here, please. I need to grab a few things from my car.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, she walks away, leaving Betty and Jughead alone for a few seconds only, but – as she soon finds out – this is just long enough for one (or both) to become soiled in mud, effectively ruining her pristine party <em>and</em> her self-imposed keeping-up-with-the-Jones’s persona.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it does. In fact, it happens so fast that Alice won’t have time, later, to finish curling the thousands of neon-pink ribbons swaying beneath a dozen balloons attached to the plastic lawn chair at the end of the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Jug-ee</em>.” Betty pauses in front of Jughead, who is still playing contentedly with his blocks. She bounces the balls of her feet against the ground, bending both knees excitedly. She isn’t looking at Jughead anymore. Instead, she’s glancing down at the puddle of thick brown mud directly to his right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In this moment, nothing – at least to Betty, who is only three years old – has ever looked more enticing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead, in turn, smiles as he looks up at her. “Blocks!” he says purposefully, referring to his pile of toys. He makes a self-satisfied noise and holds up a single plastic block to Betty as an invitation to join him. “Play with me!” he exclaims.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Betty doesn’t want to play with toys. Instead, she wants to play with mud, to get dirty – at least as much as a three-year-old can know what that even means. So, Betty swats the block away with her tiny hand and exclaims in choppy English, “I make mud!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead glances over at his plastic block lying still in the grass and then looks back at Betty. He’s about to get up from his seated position to fetch the discarded block when Betty plops down suddenly and says with a kind of firmness in her voice, hands now slapping the muddy terra firma beneath them repeatedly, “Juggie, I make mud – <em>see</em>! Come play!” Her hands hit the mud again and again, like two tiny ivory pancakes – each with five fingers – as the mud begins flying everywhere and consequently all over Jughead’s face and clothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And poor Jughead, who hates more than anything to be dirty, begins to cry immediately as Betty gets up from her seated position, inching her feet and bloomers towards the puddle, and then – with a soft <em>plop!</em> – sits directly in the center of the mud puddle, causing an even larger wave of mud than before to cascade over little Jughead, soiling his pants. Like clockwork, he begins screaming right as Alice Cooper comes back into the yard carrying a few shiny, pink ribbons. At the same time, Hal and FP come outside, each carrying a cold drink in one hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hal,” Alice yells, opening the backdoor, “I hear crying. You two had better be keeping an eye on – <em>oh no</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice looks up ahead to sees who’s crying and why – poor Jughead is coated in wet mud and wailing with his hands extended outwards in frustration, his fingers flailing in the wind. Then, right as Hal and FP come out the door, she shouts at them as she rushes over to tend to both Jughead and her daughter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hal, I thought one of you was watching them!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice scoops up poor Jughead, who is wailing loudly at this point, and sits him on her hips, where he settles there, albeit a bit begrudgingly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t cry, Jughead. It’s okay, honey. We will get you some new clothes,” Alice says gently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She rocks him a little, but he doesn’t stop screaming. Instead, as if resigned to his fate of being dirty for the remainder of the afternoon, he begins to sob softly against the collar of Alice Cooper’s neck, soiling her freshly laundered Izod polo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meanwhile, little Betty, who seems utterly delighted to be this dirty for once, is laughing and playing in the mud, moving her limbs around the cool, thick liquid like this was the birthday party she had wanted all along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal hands his drink to FP, who seems unperturbed and a little amused by the entire situation. His feet crunch the grass as he scoops Betty up and holds her body midair. “Oh Betty,” he says, shaking his head. He tries to hide the slight smile on his face at the sight of his daughter, who is now soiled (and at her own birthday party, too). He’s knows his wife is upset, but still. It <em>is </em>funny and he’s going to relish in this later – just when she isn’t looking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You want me to hose ‘em off, Alice,” FP says heartily. He smiles and takes a swig of his lemonade, watching as Alice tries unsuccessfully to get poor Jughead to stop crying. FP, in turn, tells her what she doesn’t want to hear. “He’s not going to stop, Alice,” he admonishes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And why not, FP?” Alice looks up from Jughead’s red face, his blue eyes still watering. “What do you suggest we do now? You and Hal here were supposed to be watching them, and I have a whole crew of kids and their parents coming to my house in half an hour’s time!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty is now giggling in her father’s arms as Hal sweeps his daughters hair to the side while he waits for Alice to say something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP scratches his forehead and tries not to grin again. “Well, shoot,” he says. “It isn’t rocket science, Alice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice looks down at Jughead and tries rocking him against her hip once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP smirks and looks over at Hal, who grins and smiles at his daughter as her hands pull at the fabric of his shirt. “Give the kids a bath,” he says genially.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s right,” Hal says, watching as Alice rolls her eyes in indignation. “The kids – <em>and</em> their clothes – are soaked, dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, fine. And which one of you is going to help me?!” Alice exclaims loudly. She sounds exasperated at this point and looks pointedly at both men. Then, she makes an executive decision. “FP, he’s <em>your </em>son, why don’t <em>you</em> help me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP’s face softens into a grin. Then, as if acceding to her demands, he sets both drinks down on the glass table in the backyard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, suddenly, Hal clears his throat and says, “Alice, maybe I should help instead, dear – I’m, well, my shirt is already ruined anyways.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Hal.” Alice turns to look at him. “I don’t trust FP to keep an eye on everything. No offense, FP,” she says, shooting a furtive glance in his direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP rolls his eyes. “Here,” he says, arms outstretched, “Give him to me, Alice.” He scoops little Jughead up and into his arms; the poor, wet toddler is still crying helplessly, his sobs wavering between wails and long, drawn out sniffles. “It’s okay, buddy,” FP says, looking down into his son’s blue eyes as Jughead cries and bunches at the sleeves of his father’s shirt, “we’re going to give you a bath, buddy, how does that sound?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bath!” Jughead wails. “Bath now!” He kicks his feet against his dad’s thigh and cries softly, burying his face into FP’s chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, boy. Bath now.” FP smooths Jughead’s black hair and hooks his index finger underneath Jughead’s curled fingers. FP tilts his head back as if to say <em>come on</em> and looks over at Hal, who hands Betty off to Alice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve got it dear. I’ll take it from here, okay?” Hal smiles and runs one hand through his flaxen hair and looks over at the decorated table, pink balloons wafting in the wind as the breeze from the east catches them in its midst, causing the pink strings to meet and tangle for a second or two before releasing each other into the unsteady winds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice, who’s patience is waning, just glares and turns around to follow FP into the house.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>“Mommy, I make mud,” Betty says excitedly, flapping her hands up and down as Alice pulls her pink socks off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice sighs deeply. “Oh, Betty,” she says, smoothing her little girl’s ponytail against her scalp, “did you have to play in the mud on today of all days?” She reaches over to test the running water from the tap – it’s tepid, which will do. Alice furrows her brow and undoes Betty’s ponytail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mommy.” Betty pats her hand against Alice’s cheek to get her attention. “Mommy, was I bad?” Betty looks down in shame, the tips of her little fingers twisting together at her waist as she awaits her mother’s verdict nervously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, honey.” Alice looks at her little girls face and says in admission, “I mean, Mommy’s not mad <em>at you</em>,” she says in earnest, cupping Betty’s upper arms between her palms, “but it wasn’t very nice to put mud all over Jughead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty’s green eyes widen as what can only be described as a blabbering sound erupts from her throat. “I was bad? I sorry, mommy!” Then, Betty begins to cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Jughead is still crying behind them; he’s backed himself into a corner as FP tries to finish undressing him for bath time. He swats his hand at FP as he cries impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet and bending his knees just a little. If he had it his way, he would rush over to the tub and hop in fully clothed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Alice</em>.” FP pulls Jughead’s shirt over his head and turns around. “Cut the kid a break,” he says gently. “She’s only three.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Jughead, who’s wailing has turned into a soft entreaty for ‘bath time,’ is over waiting. He sniffles and looks over at Betty, frowning. Then, he wipes the tears from his black lashes and exhales. “Bath,” he demands, as FP looks back at him. Jughead bends his knees impatiently and jumps a little against the smooth tile floor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, kid, come here.” Soon, Jughead is air bound and FP plops him into the water right next to Betty, whom Alice is trying to cheer up with a pink duck that’s she’s moving across the bath water. Betty grabs the duck in her hands and pushes its plastic, orange bill into the warm water, its end bobbing up and down as Betty tries to wrestle against gravity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Satisfied, finally, Jughead giggles, splashing the water beneath his hands, which makes Betty cry even harder as the wetness hits her stomach and chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, at least someone’s having a good time.” Alice grabs a yellow plastic cup and pours water over Betty’s arms and back and shoots a look at FP, who’s washing a giggling Jughead as he makes a shooting noise and crashes a plastic boat against the aqua waters that move lightly against his small body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grins and looks over at Betty. He hands her the boat; Betty sniffles, but she doesn’t stop crying. Instead, she looks at him as she cries, hoping, it seems, for something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead’s blue eyes widen in concern; he scoots over a little and presses his tiny hand against Betty’s pinkened cheek. “Don’t cry,” he pleads, adding excitedly, “play with me!” Jughead grabs the boat from her hand and dips it beneath the water of the tub. Betty smiles and begins slapping the water beside her, which hits Jughead as they take turns sloshing the boat against the wetness of the tub, both pretending, clearly, that the porcelain basin is a real ocean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP grins. “Well, would you look at that,” he says heartily. He grabs the plastic cup from Alice and begins pouring water over his son’s glossy black hair, a playful grin on his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What, FP?” Alice turns to look at him. “What is it you’re looking at?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing.” FP looks away, running his right hand in the water to create light waves against the water, much to Jughead and Betty’s shared delight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ocean.” Jughead holds his arms up and begins splashing the water heartily, which causes Betty to erupt into a fit of playful giggles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well?” Alice asks. “I know that look, FP. Out with it.” Alice turns the knob off and looks back at FP.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still smiling, FP looks over at Betty. “Did you see how much your daughter calmed down after Jughead touched her cheek,” he says. Then, he cocks his head at Alice and raises one eyebrow at her as if he’s stating something obvious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice tilts her head as if to say <em>so what</em>. Then, she echoes his own words back to him, “She’s three, FP. What, is that supposed to mean something?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know Alice.” FP looks at Jughead, who grins at him and proclaims, ‘bath!’ a wild exuberance in his bright blue eyes. His lips press together and make a buzzing sound as the little toy boat floats next to him. Then, little Jughead looks up at Alice and announces, “I like baths!”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP smiles at his son, splashing the warm water against his body. Then, he dips his head down, and glances at Alice, “Maybe,” he says, choosing his next words carefully, “maybe, one day, Betty and Jughead will get together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice squares her shoulders. “That’s not going to happen,” Alice says tersely. “Absolutely not.” She takes the bar of mild glycerin soap in her hands and sets it against the porcelain tub and proceeds wipes her soapy hands against her jeans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, why not?” FP asks, sounding a bit taken aback. “What, is my son not good enough for your daughter or something?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead looks up at Alice, blue eyes widening; it’s as if he’s listening to what she’s saying, hanging on their every word – almost.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Look,” Alice says pointedly, “I just don’t see Betty dating some…biker’s son. No offense, FP.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, this is about me?” FP places five calloused fingers against his chest; his tone, if nothing else, sounding sorely disappointed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Say no more, Alice. I get it. Okay?” FP rolls up the right sleeve of his shirt, which is slipping down his arm and sinks his hands back into the warm, soapy water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice grabs the plastic cup and washes Jughead’s hair off. “I didn’t mean it as a jab at Jughead, FP.” She clears her throat and adds quickly, “Plus, I see Betty dating a guy who’s sensitive and…oh, I don’t know, FP, maybe he’ll be a writer of some kind…like me. Hal and I are kind of hoping that she’ll marry a journalist and they can take over the family business here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alice!” FP begins to laugh as Jughead watches the two of them curiously. Alice’s hands are still in his hair, washing the last of the soap off from the ends of his black curls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, I know –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>They’re three</em>,” they both say in unison. Alice begins to laugh and looks over at Betty, who smiles back at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tell you what,” FP pulls his hand from beneath the soapy water, “If by happenstance, or an act of God they <em>do </em>get together, and marry, then you agree to give me your old Harley in the garage.” FP wipes his hand against his faded jeans and puts his hand out for her to shake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice laughs heartily. “Like that’s ever going to happen, FP.” She smiles glibly and places her manicured hand in his; they shake hands firmly and Alice proceeds to roll her eyes, a slight smile in the corner of her mouth that says it all: <em>as if</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, FP, looks back at Jughead and whispers to him, “You gonna get me that bike, boy?” FP says, nodding his head. Jughead bobs his head up and down, grins, and nods. He doesn’t really understand what he’s agreeing too, really. He just likes his dad’s undivided attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice lets out an exasperated huff and looks over at Jughead. He looks up at her curiously. She tilts her head and can’t help but smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bike!” Jughead shouts at the two of them. “Bike, bike!” He smiles and rolls around in the water, accidentally splashing Betty again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, boy.” FP pulls Jughead out of the water; he looks into his blue eyes and says, “I think bath time is over. Except,” FP looks over at Alice, adding a bit curtly, “what is he gonna wear?” His brow creases as he tucks a wet black curl behind Jughead’s ear.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>FP and Alice reemerge from the house, each carrying their own respective children. Betty, who is being held against her mother’s hip, bops her feet against Alice’s jeans impatiently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal Cooper, who’s sitting at the table watching Polly scribble in a Lisa Frank coloring book, turns around looks over at Jughead; when he sees what Jughead is wearing (<em>Betty’s clothes!</em>), he almost spits out his lemonade.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hals eyes widen in abject disbelief. “Oh dear,” he says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t say a word, Hal,” Alice warns, “this day has already been hard enough. Now put that down and help me take a picture of the kids, will you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever you say, dear.” Hal purses his lips together and suppresses a laugh. He looks over at FP, who smirks and carries an impeccably dressed Jughead over to the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“FP.” Alice gives him her saltiest smile, and then says, “Will you take a picture of the family first.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP decides to take this opportunity to ruffle her feathers. As she hands the camera off to him, he says in earnest, “Say, Alice?” He positions the camera so that the entire family is in the frame; he smiles and before taking the picture he adds rather pointedly, “You said family only, so why is Jughead in the picture?” He bites his lip and looks over at Hal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Be quiet, FP.” Alice gives her fakest smile and straightens her back. “Just take the picture.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” FP gesticulates with a wave of his right hand. And then, right before taking the picture he says, “Well, Alice,” steadying the camera once more, “it looks like I’m well on my way to getting that bike.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alice’s face is frozen next to Hal’s; she says a sharp ‘be quiet’ between clenched teeth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>FP straightens the camera lens, finger pressed against the picture button now. Just then, as his finger pushes against the plastic, he straightens up and says in the most serious tone he can muster, “That Harley is mine!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Click! Click! </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>…</em>
</p>
<p>tbc.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lyrics included in the intro by Billy Rose</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="u"><strong>Author's Note:</strong></span> This story is the final chapter to a previous story I wrote several years ago under a different name. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Taking Off The Grave Clothes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jughead is staying with Betty's family over the holidays.<br/>___</p>
<p>Time Jump.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For we know in part and we prophesy in part,</p>
<p>but when the perfect comes,</p>
<p>the partial passes away.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It was winter.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Present Day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead wakes up sometime in the middle of the night and never goes back to sleep. He’s careful not to make too much noise, though, as any sudden movement is almost certain to wake the sleeping figure in the bed across the room, and after what happened earlier – the inevitable meltdown that followed her panic attack – he doesn’t want – at least, for her sake – a repeat of <em>that</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, as he waits for what feels like an eternity for the moon to fade, the sun to rise, and the clean white snow to slide down Betty’s bedroom window – it will melt completely once day-break hits – he takes this opportunity to say goodbye to the little room that he had become so accustomed to during his formative years. He watches as shadows interplay with the faint yellow light of Betty’s favorite nightlight, a smiling cherub, as he looks around her dimly lit bedroom. It hasn’t changed since he can remember, and he feels like it’s time to bid the place adieu. He glances upwards, then, his eyes darting to the white shelf which houses some of her oldest and very favorite toys, and once their shiny, plastic eyes meet, he sighs and looks at each once in turn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Goodnight Raggedy Ann and Andy</em>, <em>a couple after my own heart</em>, he thinks sadly, turning his head to look at the next toy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Goodbye Precious Moments doll</em>. He remembers suddenly just how decidedly gloomy this particular porcelain doll used to look late at night – limp and dejected from a lack of light in her bedroom – but now the pale pastel figuring just looks sad (he’s unsure of whether or not he’s projecting, but he’s sad, too).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And – last, though certainly not least – his favorite of all of Betty’s childhood toys: a static figurine of an old, fuzzy bear he used to watch when he would spend the holidays with her family while Betty was asleep in her bed across the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Goodbye Winnie the Pooh. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>He feels his face grow hot then, his eyes misting over like he just might cry; he’s definitely not thinking of himself as he considers just how much of a buffoon Pooh really is. No, not at all. He sucks in his breath and expels it at the same time as he glances in Betty’s direction again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The feeling, though unpleasant at the very least, isn’t unfamiliar. No, he’s cried in here before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of Christmas, again, remembering how it was then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though now he’s crying for a vastly different reason, of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last mental goodbye proves to be the hardest of them all as he tears his gaze from the shelf and looks over at her sleeping figure one final time: <em>Goodbye, my love</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets up from the armchair and walks over to her. He stops at the foot of her bed and sighs. He thinks of how things might change when the holidays end and their both back at school.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They say letting go is never easy, though, he never imagined he’d be letting go of her – <em>ever</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Although Betty is still fast asleep, she must sense that someone is nearby – her sleeping figure stirs beneath the comforter before she wakes up briefly and opens her eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead swallows. “Hey,” he whispers uncertainly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She blinks. “Hi.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you sleep okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty nods and looks up at him. “<em>Jug</em>.” Her voice still sounds sleepy. “About last night,” Betty shifts so that she’s sitting up now, “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For what?” He tears his gaze from hers and stares at the carpeting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For everything,” she says in admission, “for being horrible to you, for waking you up in the middle of the night, for…all of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grows quiet. An apology from her is something, certainly, and although it’s not an ‘I love you, too,’ which is what he had wanted all along, it is, he decides, better than nothing. Then again, he’s used to getting the short end of the stick, so, technically, being rejected is nothing new to him. He’s no stranger to heartbreak, certainly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But in the end, he thinks, what does it matter if she doesn’t love him?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Say something,” she whispers. “<em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead looks at her with sad, tired eyes. What is there to say, really? He sighs and brushes his hand against her cheek. “Listen Betts, I –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then, suddenly, they both hear what sounds like soft, swift knock at her bedroom door. “Betty?” the voice says gently, adding with a hint of hesitation, “May I come in?” Polly yawns as she waits behind the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doors open,” Betty says sleepily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Polly steps through the door, quiet and unhurried. His blue eyes widen as he takes in the sight of her sister’s surprised face – there’s a discernable grin plastered all over it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty yawns. “What’s up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mom wanted me to grab you two for breakfast.” Polly smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’ll be down in a second.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead runs a hand through his hair. “I need coffee,” he mumbles under his breath, grumpily, “be right back.” He glances over at Betty as if to say <em>talk later</em> and hurries out of the room. He doesn’t even bother looking at Polly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their almost talk, it seems, will have to wait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Betty, who is in no mood to relay the events of last night to her sister, rolls over and flips her comforter up and over her head, so she doesn’t have to look her sister in the eye for the lecture that she knows is forthcoming in about two seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Betty!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hm?” She gives her a muffled reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Polly goes over to the side of the bed and tugs on the comforter. “So,” she says, “did you guys talk?” She jabs at her sister’s slender body through the comforter. “Well?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We were about to,” Betty says, yawning beneath the blankets, “but you interrupted us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Polly eyes go wide. Then, she grins and claps her hands together. “So, you were going to tell him, right?” she questions, adding with a soft nudge at her sister’s ribcage. “Betty! Come on! You’re being ridiculous. I know you love him, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty makes a low, grumbling sound. She rolls over beneath the blankets. Then, she pulls the covers down slowly and sits up, albeit begrudgingly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Polly tilts her head to the side. She still doesn’t understand why her sister is acting this way with Jughead of all people, a guy whom she’s known for most of her life. He’s practically family.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll talk to Jug later,” Betty says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unable to conceal her vexation over her sister’s strange behavior any longer, Polly’s smooth forehead creases, her mouth twisting contemplatively as she thinks to herself, though doesn’t dare say it aloud: <em>what is wrong with you?</em> For whatever reason, she doesn’t believe that her sister will actually talk to poor Jughead, who looked completely spent as he hurried out of the room and towards the downstairs kitchen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look,” Betty explains, flattening her palm against her forehead, “I want to take some time to think about what I want to say to him, okay?” Betty looks her sister in the eyes to make a point. “<em>Without</em> interruptions,” she says emphatically, running her hand over her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh,” Polly says. “If that’s all your worried about, then why don’t you just ask mom if you and Jug can go up to the cabin for a few hours and enjoy the mountains and the fresh air. It’s beautiful this time of year.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But –” Betty stops. She considers this, her sister’s idea; it would give both she and Jughead to have a bit of quiet solitude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You need to talk to him at some point. Why not now?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She isn’t wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe it’s the way she said it, or the fact she said it at all, but either way – Betty realizes now, that she <em>really </em>needs to talk with Jughead, to lay all her cards on the table so to speak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her sister grins and let’s go of the bedspread. “See you downstairs, <em>babe</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty yawns. She can feel Oliver pad over her body from above the thick covers, his soft, bulbous paws pressing into the comforter and against her skin. She’s thinking about what her sister said. It isn’t a bad idea, really. And at least – at least – she and Jughead would have some semblance of privacy there. Betty pushes her body upright and out of the bed, yawning as her feet push into the carpeting beneath them. Then, she turns to look at Oliver, who whimpers once and barks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on, Ollie,” Betty coos, scooping the puppy into her arms. “Let’s go find <em>daddy.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oliver barks again – only, this time, he wags his tail excitedly in response to something – the nickname perhaps?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Betty makes her way down the long hallway with the heels of her feet pushing into the soft Berber carpeting, she half wonders if maybe, just maybe, Ollie knew what she meant all along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Yes</em>, she decides, as he begins barking noisily as she descends the staircase and heads towards the kitchen.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Jughead is walking down the familiar hallway that leads to the Cooper’s kitchen when the heavenly aroma of fresh, sizzling bacon envelops the air and completely overwhelms his senses. All at once, that scent and the smell hot pancakes off the griddle reminds him of being a teenager again, and of being here during most of the holidays. It smells so much like home, in fact, that he almost forgets that once he and Betty are no longer an item, that he will no longer be coming to this house, or eating in their kitchen for that matter. He already knows he’s going to miss having home-cooked meals – <em>and </em>holidays – here. But, still. He’s going to enjoy this – a freshly made, gourmet breakfast – while he can. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pads into the kitchen seconds later and glances over at the coffeepot. Still in the same place, he muses, okay. Jughead yawns. He runs his hand through his mussed-up hair and nods at Jason Blossom, Polly’s husband, who is already eating a hearty breakfast.   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey.” Jughead smiles over at him politely. He’s going to do his best to act normal, especially this morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jason, whose mouth is considerably full, waves up at him in acknowledgement and reaches for his own cup of piping hot coffee. He takes one satisfactory swig of the hot, smooth liquid and places the cup down on the wooden table. “Hey Jughead, you up for some games later, man?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grins as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Does Polly know that you brought <em>those </em>with you?” He places the coffee pot back in its square, metal frame and proceeds to grab a plate from the bottom shelf of the cabinet situated directly above the coffee pot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jason smiles and pokes at his stack of pancakes. “You know she doesn’t. And you better not tell her either.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tell who, what?” Alice says in a cheery, sing-song voice as she enters the kitchen. She fastens her other earing on her right earlobe and goes over to the coffee pot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal Cooper, who is well-groomed, but still sleepy by all appearances, emerges from the hallway right after Alice does, yawns, and goes over to the small work desk in the corner where the newspaper is resting at its center.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jason looks up from the kitchen table and catches Jughead’s eye. “Nothing Mrs. Cooper,” he says with a wry smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grins to himself. He places several pieces of bacon next to his overzealous stack of browned, fluffy pancakes. Then, he grabs the maple syrup bottle next to the stove, which is, of course, pure maple in its unadulterated form (and devoid any so-called artificial sweeteners – none of that cheap stuff that his dad always bought as it was all they could ever really afford). He drizzles the light caramel liquid over his breakfast generously until its sticky sweet contents have coated the ends of the crispy bacon at the edge of the porcelain plate. When he turns to sit down, though, he doesn’t expect to see Alice Cooper standing directly in front of him. <em>Oh no. </em>His eyes widen in turn; she’s looks – dare he even think it – suspicious? For whatever reason, he feels like – and maybe it’s just because his emotions are running high – and yet – yet – he just feels like she knows somehow, knows that he’s in love with her daughter. Jughead swallows. He awaits her response with bated breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please help yourself to seconds, <em>Jug-head</em>,” Alice announces cheerfully. “You too, Jason,” she adds amiably, turning on her patent heels to glance in his general direction. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Thank, goodness, </em>he thinks expelling his breath, <em>hallelujah!</em> For a second there he had, quite literally, thought there was going to be a breakfast confrontation of sorts, a showdown over bacon and pancakes, perhaps. Jughead’s eyes widen; he speed-walks over to the table where Jason is sitting and plops down beside him. Jason smiles politely at him and continues sipping his coffee intermittently as he eats a few quick bites of his pancakes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes later, Betty and Polly emerge from the upstairs. Betty is cradling little Oliver in her arms and he barks as soon as they’re inside the kitchen. He sniffs the air curiously, the heavy scent of fresh pancakes wafting against his nostrils before he begins squirming again, and pushes his front paws against Betty’s cotton pajamas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me feed him, Betty,” Polly offers, arms extended outwards. She smiles and scoops him into her arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oliver whimpers as Betty hands him off to Polly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re fine, Ollie,” Betty says. Then, she glances over at Jughead, whose head is down as he eats his breakfast quietly. And suddenly, she hates herself; the way he’s sitting reminds her of how he used to sit in the school cafeteria – like he’s trying his hardest to go unnoticed, to be <em>almost</em> invisible. Seeing him like that again – alone and vulnerable – makes her feel like a terrible person. She knows why he’s keeping to himself too – it’s because of her. She decides, then, that she needs to fix this – and fix it now. And so, ever so casually, Betty goes over to grab a plate for breakfast. She sets it down against the light gray countertop and begins sliding several pancakes onto the dish with her fork. “Hey, mom,” she inquires, averting her gaze from both her mother and Jughead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, dear?” Alice sips her coffee and glances down at her iPad through thin, metallic Armani lenses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can Jughead and I go up to the cabin later?” Betty slides a small pancake off her fork and onto her plate. “The cabin looks so beautiful during this time of year. We haven’t been in ages.” Betty pauses, awaiting her mother’s answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead is still eating when he overhears what she’s saying. His ears perk up and he sits up straight, thoroughly confused, and glances over at Betty, whose back is turned to him. He wonders why she wants to go there of all places after everything that’s happened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Betty.” Alice looks up from her iPad suddenly. “I was just checking the weather forecast and it looks like a very unforgiving front is going to blow in from the North tonight. And I really don’t think it’s prudent to be at the cabin if it begins to snow. Do you, Hal?” Alice turns around and glances over at Hal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’re on vacation, Alice.” Hal is still looking down at his newspaper. He flips the front page with a flick of the wrist and adds, “Let the kids have some fun, dear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you really think that’s wise, Hal?” Alice questions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal looks up. “It hasn’t even started snowing yet,” he remarks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine.” Alice glances down at her silver wristwatch. Then, she looks over at Jughead and says firmly, “Do not drive home if the weather gets bad, you hear me. And I’m counting on you to be discerning about whether or not to drive back later, <em>Jug-head</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead swallows and nods. And in this moment, he swears, she knows – whether it’s the fact that her mannerisms seem more tense than normal, more calculated, or it’s the fact that she keeps enunciating his name – whatever madness this is, surely, she knows <em>something</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If the weather gets bad – and seeing that its nearly January already, snow flurries are more than a mere possibility – they usually turn into black ice if we get enough of them,” Hal chimes in, “just stay there, son. Okay? Both of you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright. I mean, sure thing, Mr. Cooper.” Jughead grabs the handle of his coffee cup and gulps down the remaining tepid liquid in one swig. He isn’t sure of what’s going on at this point – or what Betty has planned – a break up of some sort? Letting him down gently, perhaps? There are a thousand possibilities running through his mind as he sets his empty cup down on the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal Cooper, who seems unfazed by the entire exchange, sets his newspaper down and adds, “Say, Jughead?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead turns his head in response.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you do some ice fishing while you’re there?” He suggests coolly, like it’s the logical next step to a trip into the mountains that are conveniently located next to Sweetwater River, which is now probably frozen solid by now. “Do you remember when we did that a few years back?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead nods. “I remember,” he says softly, picking at the remaining food on his plate with his fork. Nothing like being reminded of one more thing you’re going to be missing out on, he thinks. <em>Great</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, if it’s something you want to do, you can borrow my new fishing rod in the garage. It’s clean and ready to go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, okay,” Jughead agrees, thinking it might be good to at least have something else to do should things go sour with the unavoidable talk that he knows is forthcoming, which is probably why she wants to go up there in the first place.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>When Jughead enters the Cooper’s garage, he walks purposefully towards the back wall, which is filled with various tools and other nooks and crannies – some are empty, and others are filled with nails and metal ware. He looks over in the corner – the specific place where Mr. Cooper said his ‘trusty ole’ fishin’ rod’ was laid to rest – at least, until spring, anyways, when he’d ‘pull her out’ and ‘give fishing another go.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>And</em> it’s not here,” he says in the shade of the empty garage, adding, “great,” as he lets out a pop of breath – it’s a loud, angry breath of frustration that he didn’t even know he was holding in. Jughead shuts his eyes and tries to concentrate on breathing. He counts to himself: one, two – <em>oh, never mind</em>, <em>forget</em> <em>it</em>, he thinks suddenly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Never mind that he’s screwed everything up between he and Betty just by saying those three little words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Never mind that she’d ran away mortified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And –</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Never mind that she <em>doesn’t</em> love him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>These thoughts he has suddenly in the stillness of the Cooper’s garage – musings, recollections, and memories – memories of <em>them</em>, of <em>her</em>, prove to be too much for him. And though his eyes are still closed, he begins a quiet descent into despair – one which, until now, he’d never really allowed himself to go to before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No other body part gives away his grief at first – except, of course, his eyes, which begin to cry long, silent tears that slide down his pale cheeks as he presses the palms of his hands against Mr. Cooper’s small work desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But what he doesn’t expect, though, is for Mr. Cooper to be calling his name a minute later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, Jughead,” Hal calls out, stepping into the garage, “I think I told you the wrong location for that fishing rod, son, did you find it anyhow?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the sound of Hal Cooper’s footsteps stopping behind him, Jughead’s whole body stiffens. He realizes now that there is, much to his complete and utter embarrassment, no way that he is going to be able to hide the fact that he was crying now – and what’s worse, is the fact that Mr. Cooper is, of all people, Betty’s father. He curses internally and wipes the side of his cheek with his sleeve.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Mr. Cooper,” he says under an unsteady breath, “I uh, I couldn’t find it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal pauses behind him, blissfully unaware of the fact that anything’s wrong. And then, much to his own shame, Jughead, whose never been the best at showing his emotions to well, anyone, turns around to face him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hals expression changes, suddenly. “Jug?” he urges gently. “Hey,” he says delicately, furrowing his brow, “what’s going on?” Hal pauses. He stands there calmly, waiting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead shifts uncomfortably in place. He scratches his neck and glances down at the floor. When he looks up again, he sees the concern on Hal’s face and shuts his eyes. He runs a shaky hand through his hair as a few hot tears trickle down his cheeks. “Betty,” is all he says. “I think,” he whispers, sucking in his unsteady breath and looking away from Hal, “I think I ruined things between us, Mr. Cooper.” Jughead cries silently, his gaze flitting over Hal. He looks away immediately. He’s embarrassed, so embarrassed, but more than anything – even saving face – he’s hurting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey.” Mr. Cooper takes a quick step forward. “<em>Hey</em>,” he repeats again, softer this time, pressing his hand firmly to Jughead’s shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, Jughead’s eyes meet his. He wipes his face as his breath steadies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m sure it will work out.” Hal’s grip on his shoulder tightens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Jughead shakes his head, still averting his gaze from Hal’s. “No, I don’t think so, Mr. Cooper. Not this time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It will.” Hal’s voice is confident and firm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The quietest sound of near anguish leaves Jughead’s mouth. He swallows. “She doesn’t feel the same about me, Mr. Cooper,” he says in admission, the words still stinging even though their coming from his mouth this time instead of hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For perhaps the first time in his life, Jughead lets himself be pulled into a hug. And clearly, he’s really needed this because it takes less than two seconds before he’s crying again. He feels Hal’s arms come around his back and once again, strangely, there’s that feeling again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This feeling – being in the garage of his not-quite-girlfriend’s father - feels a lot like <em>home</em>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>They leave Oliver in the care of Polly, who had eagerly agreed to take care of him while they were <em>away</em>, her voice lingering on the word with sparkling eyes as she and Jason wave a casual goodbye to them from the front steps of their house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Light, barely-there water drops, like misting specks of cool moisture hit their faces as they step into the car, which is parked out front just past the red mailbox. They each shuffle into their seats; both shut the car doors on either side of them, with neither speaking a word to the other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead turns on the ignition, glances back at the house, and proceeds to put the car in drive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty watches her house disappear from her rearview mirror. “It was nice of Polly to agree to watch Oliver.” She doesn’t look directly at Jughead. Instead, she stares quietly at the road up ahead of them, noting that the outside looks a bit foggier than it did this morning when the blinding light of the dawn spread its saffron hue against her bedroom walls and across her bedspread.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead nods. He wonders, too, if Betty has already filled her sister in on her “plans” for them. But <em>of course</em> she has, he thinks, sighing quietly to himself as his hands grip the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything more until she looks over at him a minute later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m glad Polly and Jason agreed to help mom with the whole <em>Ladies of Charity</em> bake sale that she had had planned for us today,” she admits, turning to look at him. “Aren’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels so much like half a dozen other normal conversations they’ve shared before – so much like, well,<em> them</em> – that Jughead forgets temporarily why they’re even going up to this old, bucolic cabin in the first place and adds casually, surprising even himself a little, “Couldn’t agree more.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is nothing worse than getting dumped <em>and </em>dealing with a would-be in-law like Alice Cooper in the same day, Jughead thinks to himself as they continue driving down the road, his hands affixed to the steering wheel while his mind thinks of her and only her, the precious cargo he’s driving. He glances over at Betty for only a split second, noting that she’s leaning her head against the window, her eyes shut like she’s about to nod off at any moment. But even though her eyes are closed shut, she’s smiling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the car continues onwards, with Jughead driving and Betty now sleeping soundly, the near winter sky darkens up ahead as the tires beneath their feet tread the wet gravel road beneath them, Jughead smiles too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a sad, wistful smile, but a smile, nevertheless.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>As the car reaches the clearing, the area where a few tall spruces mark the entrance to the mountains beyond the forest floor, Jughead’s window becomes clouded over with something much thicker than mist. It only takes two quick blinks and a single swipe of the windshield wipers before he realizes that it is, in fact, snowing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grins and breaths in the cool air inside the car. “Hey, Betts –!” He turns to look at her and goes still. Normally, this would be the part where he would turn to her and say <em>look, Betts, do you see</em> because he knows she loves the snow, especially when its sprinkling from the sky thickly like a saltshaker, dusting the tops of the trees up ahead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a low, trancelike melody playing in the background of the car when Jughead, despite being a cautious, unhurried driver (after all, he is, he assumes, driving himself to his own break-up), hits, albeit accidentally, an uneven dip in the road.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sharing all your secrets with each other since you were kids</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sleeping soundly with the locket that she gave you clutched in your fist</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Betty wakes up with a start, pulling her flushed cheek from the upholstered seat and her forehead from chilled window as Jughead pulls the right side of the steering wheel downwards and veers the car back to where it needs to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, Betts,” he murmurs, adding, “the road – there was a pothole or something, I didn’t see it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty blinks at him and looks back at the road. He notices, then, as she lays back down again, that she’s grasping her lower stomach like it’s bothering her. <em>Curious</em>, Jughead thinks silently, furrowing his brow as he watches her and the road in short, rapid blinks hither and tither. After another quiet minute, she shuts her eyes, and his eyes, endlessly blue and a little bleary – still wanting to look at her and only her – go back to focusing on the narrow road ahead of them as fresh, white snow begins to coat the edge of the glass windshield.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead, in turn, makes a quiet sound of exasperation, humming as he thinks and watching the soft trickle of snow as it sprinkles and melts against his side of the window. He’s thinking of how best to respond later when she tells him <em>they’re</em> <em>over</em>. He wonders if he should act calm – and if that’s even possible under the circumstance at hand. For he was, and is, a bit of a stoic, always holding his feelings close – except around her. Always, her. Jughead sucks in chilly air through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he reaches for the <em>to-go</em> cup he had taken from the Coopers kitchen as Betty had reluctantly accepted a bag of groceries from her mother <em>just in case</em>. He takes a purposeful swig of steaming coffee from the paper cup in the cup holder. He feels the heat from its center radiate against his exposed fingers through his gray, fingerless gloves as he wills himself to concentrate on the road ahead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And anything, really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anything other than<em> her</em>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Jughead can already make out the rustic old Cooper cabin up ahead; its roof, which is normally a deep shade of charcoal, sparkles beneath the branches of the trees in the forest as the noonday sun trickles in through the fray. He sees its outline in-between the trees on either side of him, which are now dusted in a fresh coat of white snow, and, due to the temperatures sudden drop – is gathering into white, uneven ice blankets at the tips of their dying leaves. He slows the car down until the engine does a steady cool-down, humming imperceptibly as it quells beneath the hood of the car, and it passes by a few full trees situated at the edge of the cabin up ahead. He pulls into the faded patch of grass next to the cabin and puts the car in park, willing his heart to stop beating so unbearably fast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead takes in a deep breath, exhales, and turns to look at her. He’s surprised to find that she’s awake and suddenly this is all feeling very real and very final somehow – what’s about to happen, and where they are – he swallows hard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The air in the car feels stifling, choked full of expectation as Jughead says with all the courage he can muster, “Betts, listen, I –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turns to look at her then, the most pained expression in his tired eyes as they meet hers. And now – now – as she looks back at him, he can’t even bring himself to finish that sentence. Her expression is something he can’t quite read, and suddenly, he feels a great sense of malaise overtake him, encircling his lower abdomen; it’s a deep, guttural feeling, one that he knows will only truly be remedied by her saying that this has all been a farce, and that <em>yes</em>, she does, in fact, love him, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty turns her head to look out her window. “It’s snowing,” she says warmly, the faintest wisps of cool air leaving her mouth as she breaths in and out from inside the car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time stills as they take it all in. The white snow careens and whooshes down the edges of the car and whips down the faded, stone path to the cabin. A few specks of ivory snow hit the edge of the glass window on Betty’s side of the door and stay there, not because they want to, but because they’re stuck; they die like that, melting against the reflective glass. And though they become water again, returning to their originally form easily, they, too, are frozen in time, cradling two people stuck inside the glass shared between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When did it start?” she inquires calmly, a hint of a smile against the corner of her mouth. Then, she turns to look at him again. “You should have woken me up, Jug. Why didn’t you?” Her expression is serene, but, again, hard to read.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead scratches his head awkwardly, averting his gaze from hers. “You just seemed like you needed the sleep, Betts.” His voice is a mere whisper. “That’s all,” he explains, not wanting to put any undue pressure on her to talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It looks like we’ll be spending the night,” Betty says. She’s observing the snow outside rather than looking at him; it shows no signs of stopping, and clearly, her dad was right. Plus, this will afford her the opportunity to do what she finally needs to: tell him the truth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The truth, without reservations.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And she will, alright. Oh, she will.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Tell him</em> how she’s a mess –</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A complete, quantitative, unwavering mess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A mess that he, of all people, doesn’t need.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>They both exit the car at roughly the same, languid pace, with Betty pausing in front of the old cabin, seemingly unperturbed by the crisp winter weather, which is dusting her head, cheeks, and nose with fresh, airy snow. Her hands are buried inside her coat pockets as she turns to look at the trees overhead. She smiles, then, expelling her breath against the freezing air, which is evidenced only by the thick cloud of hazy air emanating from her nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead shuts the car door promptly and is hit, almost immediately, with a whoosh of frigid autumn air. There is the faintest echo in the woods, then, as the sound of the wind – light and blustery – moves over and down the rooftop of the little house, careening as it pushes past the snowy, black shingles, tickling the dying leaves on the trees on either side of it as it disperses and moves past them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somewhere, not far from there, really, the breeze will undoubtedly skim the river’s edge, but – this time – there will be no water to move. The water, instead, will be immovable and dead and the wind, still moving as wind so often does, will hit ice – and only ice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing Jughead feels as his boots crunch the terrain underfoot is the thin sheet of permafrost collecting around the soles of his shoes. It flattens almost instantly as a takes a calculated step forward and glances longingly at Betty, who’s smiling delightfully as the wind brushes against her hair and her pale cheeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We haven’t been here in so long,” Betty remarks. She turns to look at him and bunches her shoulders. “Remember the last time we were here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Don’t make me remember</em>, Jughead wants to say. But, instead, he slides his beanie off his head and a few stray pieces of snow find their way into his hair. “I remember,” he admits, combing his hand through his hair before replacing his beanie again. “It was the summertime,” he says, his words sounding more like a dying declaration beneath the trees and newly minted snow. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, adding quickly as he looks away from her, “the bags, let me take them inside.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty tilts her head to the side, watching as Jughead unlocks the trunk and pulls out her overnight bag first, placing it down beside the vehicle before grabbing the modest bag of groceries and a few other items that her mother insisted they bring along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And anyways, they had both reasoned internally, with each shooting a knowing glance at the other, there was no telling Alice <em>no</em>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Betty walks ahead of Jughead, taking a few calculated steps forward before stopping at the front door. She pauses in front of its dark wooden frame and puts her left hand into her coat pocket. Her breathing, now almost visible as each exhale escapes her mouth, steadies as she finds what she needs. Then, she pulls out her keys and after a few precarious twists of the old metal doorknob, which has rusted over on account of its age, they’re inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The air in the cabin feels stale and heavy, that and Jughead can’t help but feel a sense of impending doom just from being in this place alone with her; it’s like at any moment the walls of the cabin are going to implode around him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It looks the same, though. The insides are just as they were before. There’s a thick, antiquated clock situated directly above the sofa in the den. There is plenty of light in the cabin; it’s not quite dark yet, but it will be a bit later. And situated directly above the fireplace, a painting that looks distinctly <em>Turner</em>. He concentrates on that, instead; he focuses on the interior’s familiarity and clings to it like it’s something important, something he wants to – nay, <em>needs </em>to remember.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right as Jughead shuts the heavy door behind him, a very determined gust of wind hits his backside, knocking his beanie onto the stained, oaken floorboards beneath his feet. Betty, who had grabbed one of the bags as she walked ahead of him and in the direction of the den, turns around to see a beanie-less Jughead let out a sound of quiet exasperation as his hair, the backside of which is now covered with fresh snow, falls into his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I’m ready to talk</em>, she nearly says, <em>whenever you are</em>, but the words – few, but meaningful and so very, very final for her – they don’t come out swiftly enough. Instead, she watches him like a spectator, watching as Jughead swipes his beanie from the floor in mild irritation, replacing it on his head just as quickly. Then, he turns to the side and picks up the bag he had set on the floor. His movements, Betty notes, have an air of languorousness about them. He looks up at her suddenly, their eyes meeting again as if for the very first time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead, who is, frankly, on the verge of just <em>losing it</em>, stiffens suddenly, eyes darkening with something that Betty can’t quit discern.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m going to put these in the kitchen, Betts,” he says. “I’ll just,” Jughead pauses, as if unsure of what to say or not say next. Then, he says rather hurriedly as he looks away from her, “I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty watches Jughead as he disappears into the other room, bags in hand. His movements, which seem stiff and furtive – even for him – don’t go unnoticed by her. He’s uncomfortable – that much she can tell. And she, who’s preparing to do what she must, is the exacting cause of said discomfort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shivers, then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though not because of the cold.   </p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>When Jughead returns from the kitchen, he finds Betty curled up on the couch. She’s leaning against a large, cotton pillow for support and her right arm, which is bent at the elbow, is resting against her abdomen. He watches as she peers out the open window, snow hitting the corners of the glass and collecting into a white mass outside the windowsill. She shuts her eyes once, opening them just as quickly and looks back at him like she wants to say something, but just <em>can’t</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a curious sight, one which manages to dispel, albeit, temporarily, the tension in the air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unsure of how to proceed, Jughead stands there awkwardly for another second. He scratches his head and glances over at the frosty window, wondering if, and when, they’ll finally have their talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jug,” Betty says, interrupting his thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh no. </em>He looks back at her again, waiting with bated breath and a pounding heart, the likes of which are threatening to leap from its bone marrow encasement, encircled with several spindly, grown-up ribs, breaking forth through his pale flesh, and then through the flannel, and onto the floor <em>because</em>, he internalizes suddenly, this is, well, this is probably where both he and his heart are going to be laid to rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty’s long, elegant fingers clasp her side. “I wanted to,” she pauses once, mild discomfort evident on her face before she begins again. “Listen, Jug -” She looks up at him, her gaze holding his intently. “I know we need to talk, I do, but I’m feeling overwhelmingly tired all of sudden.” Betty shifts, pushing her back further into the couch. “I don’t know what’s come over me honestly, maybe it’s this winter weather, I don’t know – but is it okay if I rest for a little while, please?” She watches Jughead closely, wondering what, if anything, he’s thinking. He takes a single, calculated step towards her, fumbling with some invisible trinket in his coat pocket. And now she knows he’s uncomfortable. And worried.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a simple question, really, one which friends so often ask their loved ones. Sometimes they mean it, but sometimes it’s said only as a social nicety, or a way of asking about one’s present state without being overly intrusive. But she knows why he’s asking; it’s because he loves her and is worried, so very, very worried about her – and about <em>them</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty nods. Then, she wonders what he’ll do next. She watches as he places his hands at his side and looks around the room, seemingly to find whatever it is he’s looking for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spots a soft throw blanket in the corner of the room; its draped neatly over a well-loved leather armchair, which is nearest to the window. “Here,” Jughead says. He grabs the thick blanket from its resting place and walks back over to the couch. “It’s cold out,” he says shakily, adding as he drapes it over the lower half of her body with care, “and y-you shouldn’t be without this, okay.” He pats the creases of the blankets against her legs when their eyes meet unexpectedly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her bright green eyes say what she cannot: <em>I’m so sorry. </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“We’ll talk later, I promise,” Betty whispers. She rests her head against the plush pillow and shuts her eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, as if running on instinct, Jughead leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Jughead trudges onwards through the snow, dragging the edge of the fishing rod behind him. The snow has stopped falling from the sky now, but the air is satiated with the cold. It hurts his lungs to breathe, but that doesn’t stop him from walking towards his destination.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all, where now, does he really have to go?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pushes past a few low-hanging tree branches before he reaches the clearing beyond the cabin, pauses, and rests his palm against one of their oaken, grey bases as he catches his breath. His cheeks almost hurt from the cold. He doesn’t mind the pain though. It’s nothing, really, compared to the dull ache of his chest; his spirit hurts far more than his physical exterior now. He turns his head and gives the cabin one last glance before stepping out into the clearing up ahead, which signals that he’s very nearly at his destination now: Sweetwater River<em>.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He treks across the mounds of white snow, passing by a well-maintained historic sign detailing the significance of River up ahead, which, from where he’s standing and what he can see – though, imperfectly – is completely frozen solid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stops momentarily, attempting to gather his wits about him as he feels a distinct rush of blood go to his head. His chest is still heaving beneath his jacket – from the cold, maybe, or from being angry – very, very angry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In a fit of rage, or a strange burst of clarity – it could be either of which, though he can’t quite be certain it isn’t both – he tosses his fishing pole aside, and proceeds to speed walk over to the nearest tree and begins kicking at its base angrily. When the rage leaves him a few seconds later, his chest is still heaving as pulls his boot away from the base of the oak and looks up at the sky in anger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why!” he screams. “Why are you doing this to me?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His chest heaves up and down from beneath his jacket as he looks around the white forest. There is no one there, still, and the emptiness, oh the emptiness, makes him feel like he could fall through the ice up ahead and no one and nothing – not even the crying trees or the calm winds billowing at the edge of the forest would react. He turns to look at the tree again, and delivers one final, swift kick to its base, causing a few pieces of thin wood to splinter and break. They fall against the snow on the ground in wooden sheets as Jughead screams for the final time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A red breasted robin, who is, perhaps, the sole living witness to his private meltdown, flits away from a small, skeletal tree nearby, flapping its colorful wings against the chilly, autumn air as it disappears through the white tree branches overhead and into the dark blue sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a few seconds, he finally gains some control of his untethered emotions and says in calm, truthful voice, “I just want to be loved,” he whispers to himself. “Is that too much to ask?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead sighs a dejected sigh, trudges towards the discarded fishing pole, which is coated in fresh snow, picks it up and turns back to the river.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walks a long, slow walk and only stops when he reaches the frozen edge of the river. Then, he looks out at the crystalline plane of ice before him, wavers for only a cool second and takes a single step onto the smooth, blue surface.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Crack!</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>A small, indistinguishable part of the ice splinters beneath his feet as he trudges onwards. It leaves a jagged, white fissure at the river’s edge as he moves towards its center.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stops. Satisfied that he’s in a comfortable spot, he tosses his fishing pole to the side, reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out a small pocketknife, which makes a clean sweeping sound as he brandishes it through the air. Then, he crouches, studying the patch of ice before him, and begins to cut. He removes the ice after a few minutes and stares into the blue. The water, which was hidden beneath the white ice, swirls before his tired blue eyes begins to move around the rim where his knife cut it loose. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors, this water, and as he peers curiously into the hole, he sees his own reflection clearly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His face, which is normally brightened by the faintest hint of color – a pink burst around the edge of his nose and cheekbones – the only benefit of being pale, really – appears almost spectral.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And his veins, which are nearly invisible to the naked eye, appear darker somehow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead stands up, shakes the melting ice from his knees, and reaches for the fishing pole. It’s encrusted with snow, which he shakes off easily. Then, with some careful maneuvering, he lowers its end into the blueness, where the bait disappears beneath the turbulent, cobalt waters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He waits. As the time passes, he yawns and looks around – he sighs. Save for the trees, there isn’t much to see, really, so he goes back to looking at the waters beneath the fishing pole. He’s still thinking about what happened earlier, rehearsing what to say in his mind in case things go awry. He tugs on the pole, thinking he sees something, but it turns out to be a shadow from beneath the ice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He yawns and goes back to fishing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes later, though, another shadow – <em>his</em> shadow – <em>shifts</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And what he sees surprises him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There, in the waters, he catches a blink of his own reflection again. Only, this time, his reflection looks different somehow. His face, which, just a mere second before, appeared sad and tired, looks happy and refreshed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stands there in front of the pond, staring at his reflection, watching as his frail countenance changes before his very eyes. Gone is the face of death and decay, never to be seen again. In its place, a new face appears, a face of radiant joy and happiness. He watches as the light emerges in his eyes, lighting up the irises. The light spreads through his face and begins to color his cheeks and lips. And in that instance, what was once mortal has become immortal. He doesn’t know it then, but his spirit does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead gasps and tries to catch his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Assuming he’s imagining things, he blinks again. Another image appears in the place of his face. He sees what looks like a stomach of sorts, although he’s not entirely sure he’s seeing anything properly in this moment – except maybe a shadow from beneath the water, or a reflection of the trees up overhead. But when he moves closer, he realizes he’s definitely seeing is a stomach. There’s something inside of it – a shape that he can’t quite make out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He finds this all rather odd and slaps at his cheeks to wake himself up. He’s stressed; in fact, he’s been under a lot of stress as of late. He wonders if it’s possible to hallucinate after being out in the cold too long. He tells himself that he should probably look that up and take all precautions when he gets back to the cabin to prevent frostbite, or whatever it is you call it, prolonged exposure to the cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He rubs at his eyebrows and runs his hands through his hair. Then, he hears something inside of him say very clearly,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you see?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hears this internally and wonders if he’s just overthinking things. But then, there it is again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look,” the voice says. “What do you see?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks again. As the waters swirl the image reappears. It only lasts for a second, but it’s clear enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>A</em> <em>baby</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He says this in his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A picture flits across the icy waters again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sees the child again. It has dark hair, not unlike his own, and Betty is holding it in her arms. She has a blue ribbon in her hair, a ring on her finger, and she’s giving it a kiss on the cheek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I haven’t forgotten what you asked me for,” the voice says. “Had you done things my way, I could have spared you this heartache. I never intended for you to get hurt like this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you, son.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead runs his hands across his face in disbelief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, he blinks again – it’s gone. The only thing there is a hole in the ice and the waters swirling beneath it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>What I asked for? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thinks of all those years ago when he was attending a Christmas service with the Coopers, trying to remember what he had said or done. He remembers his silent plea. Then, he remembers Betty holding his hand. They sung ‘Oh Come, All Ye Faithful,’ and she didn’t stop holding his hand, even after the song had ended.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He runs his hands through his hair and looks at his reflection in the water again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His own reflection disappears as a gust of wind whips across the plane of ice and interrupts the water in its calmer state. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s tired, he thinks in passing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tired of fighting.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Betty turns around from the couch when she hears the rusty door handle click open. She’s still holding fast to the pillow on the couch when she turns and looks up at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey.” Jughead doesn’t make direct eye contact with her. He scrapes his boots, whose bottom soles are covered in snow, off at the door. At the same time, several snow flurries wander in and find their final resting place against the wooden floor. They melt almost instantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi.” Betty hugs the pillow close to her chest, her lips and chin resting against the corner of the quilted fabric. She feels like she’s hiding. Then, she notices the large, silvery trout at his right side. Her bright green eyes widen as she peers at him curiously from behind the pillow. “I see you caught something.” She pushes her nose against the cotton fabric of the pillow and waits for him to say something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I, yeah. Yeah, I did.” He smiles politely. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, alright?” Jughead shakes the snow from his jeans and turns towards the direction of the cabins kitchenette but stops with his back turned to her when he hears her say his name. It’s a thing he’s going to miss – her saying his name – and well, <em>her</em>. He shuts his eyes and lets out a sad, languid breath against the stale air in the cabin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jughead?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Don’t say anything you’ll regret</em>, he thinks quickly. He sighs and blows a few stray black curls from his face and turns around. “Yeah, Betts?” He nibbles at his lower lip absentmindedly and manages to avoid eye contact for a few seconds. He’s hoping that perhaps she’ll want to talk now given that she’s had the place to herself for a little while and he’s had time to clear his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m really hungry,” she says in admission. And in truth, she is. In fact, at this very moment she’s starving, and she doesn’t understand why. She had eaten more than enough at breakfast, and yet, she feels ravenous now and feels like she can no longer keep her appetite in check.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiles at that. It isn’t what he was hoping she would say, but nevertheless, it’s a perfectly normal response – once which he’s used to – and so he says, simply, “Me too.” He holds up the silver-grey trout he’d caught earlier. “Does this look appetizing enough for you? It was all I could manage to catch,” he says with a sigh, adding pointedly with a smirk to lighten the mood, “despite your dad’s best ice-fishing techniques.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Okay</em>.” She watches as he disappears into the other room. She’s thinking, rehearsing what she’s going to say – and not say – to Jughead later once they have their talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Jughead stops on the way to the kitchen as the glint of a glass frame catches in the corner of his eye. It’s a family picture and an incredibly old one at that. He smiles despite the situation at hand, knowing that in just a few hours things may inevitably be over for the two of them. But still, he looks at the picture which evokes a dozen memories and makes him reminiscence about times long past. He grins because it’s one of the earlier pictures of the two of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead grins and presses his fingers against the opaque glass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembers that Birthday party, sort of. From what his dad told him, the day in question was a disaster – one which, to this very day – both Hal and FP laugh at, because, according to his dad, the sight of he and Betty covered in mud threw Alice cooper into a proverbial tailspin. He grins and shakes his head he walks into the kitchen, the trout in his hand swaying just a little under the clunk of his boots against the noisy wooden flooring.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It takes a little while for him to skin and debone the fish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead works diligently in the kitchen, chopping and cutting a few russet potatoes, which he sets aside for later. He seasons the two fish filets in the pan sitting atop the stove, shaking a bit of coarse salt and pepper over them. When he’s satisfied that they’ve been flavored enough, he grabs the bottle of rosemary from the small tub of spices sitting next to the stove and sprinkles the tiny green pieces all over the raw potato slices. Then, he shakes the bowl holding them slightly, ensuring that each side is coated evenly and proceeds to pour them in a small heap next to the fish cutlets. Finally, he spreads out the heap of potatoes with a clean spatula, ensuring that they will brown evenly as they cook. The oven, an old Black &amp; Decker model from the late eighties, has been heating since he started cooking, and he slides the meal for two into the top rack. Then, he shuts the over door and stares out the kitchen window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he sees is snow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miles and miles of endless white snow.  </p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>When Jughead enters the living room, dinner plate in hand, he finds Betty lying on the couch in nearly the same position as she was in previously. Her head is resting comfortably against a long pillow. She’s staring out the window contentedly, watching the snow dance across the leaves and trees outside, the cool, autumn air blowing it this way and that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s beautiful,” she remarks, turning to look at Jughead. “It reminds me of when I used to come here as a little girl.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here,” he says softly, putting the plate in her hands. “I’ll just…be in the kitchen,” he says, retreating from the couch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty watches him walk away and decides to make the first move. “Hey, Jug?” she asks gently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead, in turn, looks back at her. “Yeah, Betts?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Will you sit with me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I…yeah,” he says awkwardly, cupping the back of his neck. “Let me just get us something to drink.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Betty, who, for once, ate far more quickly than he did, is the first to finish her dinner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of her utensils clinking against the plate sends a shiver through Jughead’s spine as he lays his own silverware down like a man who’s surrendered halfway through battle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can we talk,” is all she says, leading him to swallow and set his own plate aside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snow pelts against the window as her words echo through his brain: <em>Can we talk?</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Jughead’s blue eyes widen in response. <em>It ends here</em>, he thinks, <em>it</em> <em>all</em> <em>ends</em> <em>now</em>. These are my last moments lived – in a snowed-in cabin with my <em>ex</em> best friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Okay,” he manages to say, gulping uncomfortably.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I,” Betty begins. “Sorry,” she whispers, looking away suddenly. “I’m having a hard time knowing where to start.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead stares. When their eyes meet again in the stillness of the living room, he swears he can hear his own heart beating furiously beneath his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty sighs loudly. Then, she tries again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought about it, you know, I thought about it a lot – you and I. You didn’t ruin anything, Jug. I don’t even know why I said that the other night when you’d been so nice to me the entire evening with everything, except that we were never really friends, you and I, <em>were we?</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Knowing she’s right, he sighs. “No,” he says in admission, “I suppose not. But I don’t see why you and I can’t just be together, Betts – that is, unless you truly don’t love me, then that changes things, that changes, well, everything, and if you don’t then I’ll respect that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shuts her eyes. “It’s not that,” she whispers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then what?” He asks. “Just tell me, I can take it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You deserve better than this,” she says. “Better than what I have to offer you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He frowns. “Better?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nods. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be with someone who’s stable, Jug, and that is one thing I am not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stable?” Jughead tilts his head to the side. His brows furrow as he tries to understand what she means. He watches as her head dips downwards in shame; she bites her lower lip like she doesn’t want to say whatever she’s about to say next. He’s nervous, but he needs to hear it anyways, so he tilts his gaze to mirror her own. His eyes finally meet hers. His insides are shaking, but carefully – the gentlest he’s been yet – he allows his left hand to come up to her face – cradling it and pulling it closer to his. Their eyes meet again in the soft, sable light of the cabin. “What are you saying exactly?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jug, can’t you see – this – <em>us</em>,” Betty says, sounding a bit exasperated, “You’ve been through the school of hard knocks and I’m, what, a middle-class girl who’s lived in a box her whole life and is too scared to ever leave it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you getting at here?” he asks somberly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty swallows. She raises her voice like she’s trying to make him understand, but instead of sounding angry she manages to sound a bit crestfallen. She’s annoyed with herself for her inability to be more forthcoming about her feelings for him, and, well, everything. “I’m saying, Jug,” she pauses and looks into his eyes, adding, “you deserve to be with someone who isn’t a basket case. You deserve stability and happiness and most of all you deserve someone who is far better than what I have to offer you, okay.” She sighs almost angrily, her tone sounding a bit exasperated. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Betty,” Jughead whispers softly, with both hands now around her face. He smiles sadly and shakes his head in disbelief, “baby, I don’t care about –”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, let me finish.” There are tears in her eyes now. “Because you deserve the best, okay? And that’s not me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not following here, Betts,” he says in earnest. “Just be honest with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty’s fingers are curled and pressed against his wrists. She swallows and looks into his eyes. Then, at last, any resolve she had before <em>breaks</em>. This is it. This is their moment – this is <em>the moment</em> and there’s no coming back from this now. Once she’s said it, she’s said it and she can’t take it back. This will forever change them – they will never again be just Juggie and Betts – and she knows this. But, somehow, her mouth is three steps ahead of her mind; the words tumble out of her mouth before she can even stop them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because I love you, I know that the best thing for you isn’t me, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s stunned, but then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. “Say it again, Betts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you, okay? I love you, too.” A cry of relief escapes Betty’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead’s lips are on hers before she finishes smiling. He presses kiss after kiss against her lips, her nose, her forehead. Then, he cradles her head and presses his forehead to hers, their breaths now mingling in the dim light of the inside of the cabin. His hands are still on her face and neck as he says, “I don’t need a perfect girl. I just need you. You’re it. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Really?” She can barely talk by this point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Really</em>,” he whispers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty manages a smile as a few tears escape down her cheeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulls her face to his and kisses her.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Later in the evening, Jughead lights a fire, and they sit on the couch and talk, relishing in the peaceful moment shared between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Jughead looks at her, he finds that she’s smiling – he smiles too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, you’re really mine,” he says, as if making sure this isn’t a dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nods. “I’m yours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Marry me?” he whispers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grins. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t make me ask again,” he tells her. “Marry me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stunned, Betty blinks back the tears that are suddenly in her eyes. She wipes them away slowly and looks at him again, unsure of what to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your silence is worrying me,” he whispers. “Say something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Several emotions wash over her at once. After the initial shock wears off, she realizes that <em>yes</em>, this was – and is – what she’s wanted all along. She also comes to the realization that she can’t think of anyone better or more fitting to marry than her best friend, someone whom she’s known most of her life and would do anything for her – she smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” she says finally, breaking the silence between them, nodding as she says it again. “<em>Yes</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Really</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grins and leans in to kiss her.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>As the fire dies down, and the night covers the skyline behind the cabin, Jughead is contemplating what transpired in the woods earlier – he’s holding Betty’s hand as she dozes off on the couch beside him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snow pelts against the window behind them, and Betty wakes up briefly when a log in the fire breaks and falls, lying beside the soot in the fire as it smolders there for a few seconds longer, dying like their past, and alighting it at the same time; it grows brighter, then dims again. Until, finally, the fire in the log burns out entirely, igniting the above flame with an even greater fury than ever before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her eyes open, if only for a moment. “Hi,” she whispers to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi.” He squeezes her hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty sits up and rewraps her blanket around her midsection to keep warm. “What are you thinking about, Jug? You had this pensive expression on your face just now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grins. “Just…things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s never just <em>things</em> with you,” she teases. “Come on, what were you <em>really</em> thinking about? Please tell me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead pauses for a moment, wondering if he should tell her what happened earlier, and, more importantly, what he saw. He sighs and shuts his eyes. “When I was in the woods earlier,” he says, holding her hand close to his, “I had a meltdown, and, well, something happened.” He opens his eyes and finally looks at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” she asks, not understanding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He chooses his next words carefully. “It was something that happened a really long time ago the first Christmas I stayed with your family.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty has a quizzical expression on her face. “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nor do I, only this sort of…solidifies things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Solidifies what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You and I,” he says quietly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty exhales. “<em>Speaking</em> of you and I, how are we going to explain to my parents that were now <em>engaged</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just like that,” he says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly as you said it.” He grins. “I’ll just let you do all the talking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Jughead</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grabs her hand and laces her fingers with his. “I love you,” he says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I love you, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he tells her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grins in the darkness. “Because I took so long to say it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He squeezes her hand. “I suppose,” he says quietly, like he’s thinking about something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry I took so long,” she says apologetically. “I was scared of losing us,” she explains, “of losing you as my best friend or something. In hindsight, I guess that was a bit silly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I get that,” he tells her, “believe me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighs. “So now you know the real reason why I took so long to say it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And now?” he says gently. “Are you still scared, Betty? Of us, I mean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not if you’re not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m only scared of letting you down,” he admits. “I thought my entire world was falling apart the other night – literally.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I’m</em> <em>sorry</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Don’t be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Betty bites her lower lip like she’s thinking about something. “Your really are sure of us, aren’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Positive. I mean, I’ve always been sure of how I felt,” he admits. “I just didn’t know whether or not you felt the same or to what extent you had any sort of feelings for me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She smiles. “You’ve always been there for me, Jug, I couldn’t imagine my life without you, really.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s because I love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know. I love you too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He lets out a loud, satisfied sigh. “<em>And</em> I feel like I finally got what I asked for,” he tells her, sounding relieved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What you asked for? I’m not sure I understand.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” he whispers. “You don’t know it, but when I was still barely a boy, I prayed for this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For <em>you</em>.” He declines to tell her the other gift he knows is coming, though nature will soon tell her that, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She bites her lower lip. “Me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods. “It was that first holiday I stayed with you, remember? The one where my dad was incarcerated, and I was basically going to be alone for Christmas. So, you invited me to stay with your family and after dinner we went to the old Methodist church down the road from your house.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I remember,” she says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We were twelve, maybe thirteen. It was so long ago, but I remember it so clearly now. Maybe it’s the snow, then again, maybe it’s everything that happened tonight, I don’t know…” He pulls her in close and wraps the blanket around her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” she whispers, “is this what you asked for, <em>us</em>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He glances down at her and tucks a strand of hair beneath her ear. “Yes,” he replies. “But I got so much more than I could have ever imagined or hoped for.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grins. “Oh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jughead blinks back a bit of moisture in his eyes. “Sorry.” He wipes it away on one side and sucks in his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiles in the darkness, fighting back the tears he knows are forthcoming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it, Jug?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He exhales. “Now I have a real family.”</p>
<p>...</p>
<p><em>Fin</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lyrics in Part II by Greg Gonzalez </p>
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